


out of time

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad end, Burning to death, Child Abuse, Death, M/M, Torture Mentioned, Violence, curse, reflecting on the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 17:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20085952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Four hundred years Ambrose had lived, alone and isolated. But finally, finally he would meet his end, and his time would finally run out, and after many years he would have repented for all the sins he and his family had committed.





	out of time

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for death, violence, mentions of child abuse, torture, burning to death ect.

400 years Ambrose had lived, confined to the walls of what was one his home, now a prison for no one but himself, covered in marks showing his guilt, as well as his families guilt, his body a painting of their crimes, his pain a symbol of their repentance for their sins, his death his own repentance, reliving what pain he had enforced on others.

The pain from wounds others had inflicted felt muted, while any he had inflicted himself were as painful as they were for the person receiving them. When he had awoken the morning the curse had begun, he felt the pain his father had enforced on him, the pain that had pushed him to hurt others, although muted, and later found the people who had raised him dead.

He had felt relief, then, and he still did, even after so many years. Even when that meant he would be alone, alone is better than living day to day with fear seizing his heart like a chain around a dog’s throat.

It was 4 centuries ago when he had turned 18, and 4 centuries ago when his parents had died. Over 400 years ago he had been doomed to this fate the very moment he had found himself in the dungeon, hand shaking, whip in hand, the feeling of his father watching, of bandages and of uneven sight, his father forcing Ambrose’s own turn in their little game of life or death.

It was those many years ago when he had seen true anger in someone other than his father's eyes, a long time ago when he had harmed a man and a woman so deeply he'd never unsee what he had done.

The man, blinded, the woman burned at the stake after a great deal of torture. Lovers, he had assumed, and that he was still certain of even after all this time. It had been Ambrose who had cut into their flesh and lit the flame, it only made sense that he would be the one to pay the price for the family’s sins.

He was only 12 then, bandages still fresh around his head, having learned what defiance meant. He knew, now, what it was like to be held down by those chains and feel the tear of a dull blade tearing into his skin.

And it was not long after when his fate was decided, even then he had accepted it. He remembered how sick he had felt doing what he had, and he remembered how overwhelming the thought that they deserved whatever came from the curse the woman had placed back then had been, now it was less overwhelming and more something Ambrose had come to accept.

But that was of course a very long time ago, and Ambrose had 4 lifetime's worth of time to dwell on the past, although even with all that time he still never stopped. All he had was the past, after all, with no future to live for. 

He knew his fate, what awaited him as he awoke on his birthday 400 years after the curse had begun, it was certain death, and yet he fell asleep easily. The only thing he didn’t know about his death was the cause, but he had a feeling it would be the one death he had caused that wasn’t blurred and pushed from his memory.

You can’t forget a death like that.

And yet 10 years ago a boy had come to the castle, and 10 years ago Ambrose had gone blind, he had adjusted rather quickly to such a thing since then, it no longer bothered him. But that night, his last night, he dreamt of snow white hair and piercing blue eyes, smiles gone as quick as they came.

Two boys of pale skin that was once flawless, now riddled and marked by scars, marks of the lives they had lived before and that they had survived any hardships then that led them to where they are now.

Both men were happy and content, venturing out to the world, learning to live and to love, free of castle walls and locked gates, a prison of dust and bad memories that were finally laid to rest.

But then his dreams of happiness left, replaced instead by splatters of red and charred flesh, screams of agony. A boy of snow white hair, arm mangled and clawed at, markings of ink and of agony contrasting his pale skin.

Gail, with Ambrose's own affliction, screaming out in agony as marks continued to appear so quickly that they bled black, until there wasn't a single hint of white left on his body.

Ambrose woke with a start, grasping onto his sheets and struggling to breathe. "I.. I'm alive? Gail- Oh god.." he gasped for air and held onto his clothing tightly, stumbling out of bed before a scream of pain was ripped from his body at sudden pain, awful terrible pain, falling to his knees at the overwhelming sensation.

The feeling of cuts and whips tearing into his flesh, never stopping, never once giving him a chance to realize that he could also feel the warm drop of blood as they appeared, one after the other. Instead he could see his own hand, shaking, and a woman screaming and pleading for him to stop.

His sight, then, had been hindered by bandages and his own, searing pain that pushed him onwards, towards a life he had never wanted to live.

He hadn't dared speak then, but now whispered out a very long overdue apology as the pain continued, over and over, and he recalled how the woman had looked after each crack of the whip, after each slice of the sharpened blade.

Ambrose had been merciful by sharpening the blade, the one that had been used upon himself only days before, and even now he still felt the same.

But he knew that no amount of apologies could fix what he had done.

After a while it had stopped, his body aching, blood seeping into the carpet and then the stone as he crawled towards where he hoped was the door. His peace didn't last, and he remembered it so clearly, the sound of the fire starting, sound of flesh burning, even the smell.

He could smell it now, too, charred flesh and the feeling of burning himself, the one thing he couldn’t recall from all those years ago. But of course he hadn’t, because then she had been the one to burn, and now he would meet her fate, their positions switched now.

He would have thought this cruel had he not been responsible for the woman's pain, regardless of whatever fear that was forced into himself at such a young age. All he could do now was scream in agony as he burned alive, any real fire absent from the scene, although for him it felt as if there was.

He screamed and cried until tears sizzled away and death took his hand, carrying him down through the doors to hell.

His body now limp upon the ground, Gail freed from the curse and of this prison, too shocked and horrified at the state of his companion and friend, the man that he loved, to even scream. Gail knew that the other man's death was coming, he had known this would happen and yet he felt regret.

Regret for not speaking of his love, for not acting upon it, of letting fear overtake him and allowing a man he had come to love slip from his fingers.

But there was one undeniable fact, that was that this had been inevitable from the start, and that Ambrose's time had finally ran out.


End file.
